


Second Time Around (things just made more sense)

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Bartender Mechanic, Blind Date, Childhood Friends, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BFF Writing Team fill, based off prompt: 'Can somebody please write an angst or marshmallow fluff of Bellarke dating in elementary school or high school but one moves away so they obviously have to break up. But then one goes out on a blind date ten years later and they reunite' for anonymous</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Time Around (things just made more sense)

**Author's Note:**

> It's stupid and cute and and fluffy, and thanks Crystal for making sure my kidfic is on point.
> 
> MINOR background Bartender Mechanic, because why not.

Despite Bellamy’s annoyance, Octavia manages to drag Bellamy to Clarke’s house one weekend when he’s in the sixth grade. Bellamy is eleven and three-quarters, and Too Cool; Octavia is eight and a half and not allowed to ride the bus without Bellamy.

“Please, Bell? Clarke asked me to come over!”

It’s Saturday afternoon, and Bellamy is tasked with babysitting his little sister while his mom works her shift at the diner, like every weekend.

“Clarke asks you to come over everyday.” Bellamy mostly ignores her, pressing down unnecessarily hard on his Nintendo controller. “Why can’t she just come over here?”

Octavia shifts uncomfortably.

When she doesn’t offer up a response, Bellamy pauses the game. “Where does Clarke live anyways?”

“Arkadia Heights.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Of course she does. I bet her mom gives you fresh baked cookies and has a butler to wipe your boogers. No thanks, go without me.”

“But mom said I can’t ride the bus without you!” Octavia whines.

“Why can’t she come pick you up?” Bellamy says with exasperation.

“I--” Octavia stutters. “I don’t want her to see where we live.”

Bellamy’s stomach churns. Bitterness and anger swell in his chest, and he snaps at his sister. “If the Princess is _too good_ to come slum it with us in Shipwood, then screw her!”

Octavia’s lip quivers and Bellamy watches as her eyes become glassy and red.

He knows Clarke is one of her only friends, but he’ll be damned if Octavia is ashamed of their family. Sure, their clothes aren’t name brand, and he saved up his allowance and birthday money for two years to buy a used Nintendo system. Their house isn’t even the nicest on the block, but his mom works hard and Bellamy does his best to make sure Octavia has food on the table each night. They do alright.

“ _Damnit,_ ” Bellamy mutters.

“Swear jar!”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Would you rather I put money into the swear jar, or use it to take the bus with you to Arkadia Heights?”

Her eyes light up and she bounces on the balls of her feet. “Really, Bell?”

Bellamy shrugs nonchalantly. “Whatever.”

Octavia leaps at him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thanks big brother.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

* * *

The bus takes approximately twenty-seven minutes to get to Arkadia Heights from Shipwood. They get off at the stop just outside Clarke’s neighborhood and Octavia skips ahead of Bellamy, who mopes behind her, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Which house is hers anyways?”

Octavia points at the house three doors down.

_Of course._

It’s the biggest house on the block. Long, circular driveway; tall columns bolstering a large porch. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Two fancy cars are parked in the driveway.

“Jesus, what do her parents even do?”

Octavia hops over a crack in the sidewalk. “Her mom’s a doctor, and I think her dad does super-secret spy work.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes.

They approach the large set of wooden double-doors, and Bellamy suddenly feels so, _so_ small.

Octavia rings the doorbell excitedly and smiles big when Clarke swings the door open.

“Hi!” the small blonde girl says, beaming at Octavia.

“Hi,” Octavia counters. “Sorry, I had to bring my dumb brother.”

“I’m right here, O.”

Clarke turns her gaze to Bellamy and he’s suddenly super self-conscious of his holey jeans and faded Indiana Jones t-shirt. Clarke’s cheeks are flushed, and she is _cute_ with her wild curls braided into two pleats, but still unable to tame the frizz. He thinks he remembers Octavia saying something about Clarke being a grade ahead of her, which makes her a grade _under_ him.

Ushering them inside, Clarke brings them to the kitchen, where, as Bellamy suspected, there are freshly baked cookies waiting for them. Bellamy eats one to be polite, and then he eats four more because they’re really freaking good.

Upstairs, Clarke has a whole room that she calls her Tower, as it’s far away from the main part of the house. Bellamy must look worried because Clarke assures him there is a call system throughout the house. She lets Bellamy play on her computer, while she and Octavia pick up where they left off in some intricate fort-town built up in the corner. It’s cool, he guesses.

Eventually, Octavia and Clarke quiet down and Bellamy abandons his post at the computer. He crawls into the main entrance of the fort to see Clarke and Octavia nestled back on a pile of pillows watching a movie on a small screen.

Octavia’s head rests on Clarke’s shoulder and Bellamy suddenly feels an overwhelming fondness for the the Princess. Clarke pats the empty spot beside her and Bellamy clamors over, laying down next to the girl.

He guesses for a fifth grader, Clarke Griffin was Pretty Cool.

* * *

Octavia hangs out with Clarke a lot that year, sometimes Bellamy tags along, sometimes he doesn’t. They do homework, or watch that show about the ponies, or practice braiding each other’s hair. Bellamy turns out to be the best braider of the bunch, much to Octavia’s dismay.

On Bellamy’s twelfth birthday, Clarke pulls him aside while Octavia chatters away with the house cook.

“Here,” she says, shoving a neatly wrapped package into his hands.

“What’s this?”

Clarke cocks her head. “Your birthday present, dummy.”

Bellamy blushes. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He’s used to not getting a lot on his birthday. Usually, Aurora just splurges on a nice meal out-- and by nice, that usually means Chili’s, and buys him a new pair of jeans-- because he’s usually outgrown them by the time his birthday rolls around.

Picking at the tape gingerly, Bellamy chews on the inside of his cheek.

“God, Bellamy you can rip the paper.” Clarke rolls her eyes with a smile.

Bellamy looks up at her dumbly, and then laughs. “Oh.” When he finally gets the wrapping paper off, Bellamy’s stomach flips.

“It’s really old,” Clarke starts. “And, like, it’s kind of falling apart but I know you really like Greek mythology and--”

“It’s perfect,” Bellamy says, cutting her off. He turns the book in his hands. Opening it, Bellamy flips through a few of the browned pages. _Mythologies_ , he says quietly. Clarke clears her throat softly, and Bellamy tears his gaze back up to her face. “Thank you, Clarke.”

It’s her turn to blush. “It’s nothing.”

Bellamy looks over Clarke’s shoulder. “We might want to go save Vera from Octavia.”

Clarke laughs and Bellamy thinks that he might just love her laugh.

* * *

“Bellamy! Please!”

Bellamy groans. “Octavia, why do you need me?”

They’re standing at the bus stop with Clarke and Octavia is begging him to come with them. Under normal circumstances, Bellamy would have just gone with them and read his book on Clarke’s couch, but Octavia has other plans in mind.

“We need someone to play the groom.”

Bellamy blinks dumbly. “The groom.”

“We’re throwing a wedding!”

Bellamy looks to Clarke, who shrugs.

Bellamy groans again, _sometimes nine-year-olds were such nine-year-olds._

“I’m ten,” Clarke corrects him. Bellamy shuts his mouth before he says something else he doesn’t mean to.

Bellamy sets his hands on his hips. “I’m not going to marry my little sister.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “You’re not going to marry me, I’m performing the ceremony!”

_Oh._

Now, Bellamy is twelve. It’s not like he’s in love with Clarke or anything. But she’s fun, and she’s smart and pretty, and well, he wouldn’t _hate_ holding her hand.

“I have to marry Clarke?” Bellamy makes a face in mock distress.

“Oh, come on, Bell. You like Clarke,” Octavia says pointedly. “It’s just pretend.”

The bus is approaching the stop, and Bellamy has to make a decision. “Oh, fine.” He makes a point of sighing in exaggeration but the girls ignore him, happily hopping onto the bus.

* * *

The ‘ceremony’ is silly and Octavia wears a top hat, for one reason or another. Clarke makes them flower crowns and Bellamy wears it with resignation.

“Now, it’s time for your vows.”

“What vows?” Bellamy frowns.

Octavia scrunches up her nose. “The vows you wrote for your wife, dummy.”

“I didn’t write any vows.”

“Then make something up!”

Bellamy just stares at Clarke, mouth slightly agape. “Uh…”

Clarke squeezes his hand. “I’ll go first.” She clears her throat. “I promise to be the coolest wife. I’ll let you stay up late reading with the light on, even when I want to go to sleep. I’ll play video games with you, but I don’t promise that I won’t kick your butt.” Bellamy smiles at that. “I promise to give you all my tomatoes, because I hate them and you love them. I promise I’ll take care of you when you’re gross and sick, and I will help you with all of the adult stuff like paying bills and doing laundry.”

She stops and waits for a rebuttal.

“Um, okay,” Bellamy starts. “I promise to not always hog the covers, even though I get really cold at night. I promise not to let you win at video games just to make you feel better. I promise not to chew with my mouth open at the dinner table, and I guess I will take care of you when you’re gross and sick, too.”

“Do YOU, Bellamy Bradbury Blake take the beautiful and exquisite Clarke Penelope Griffin to be your wife, until death do you part?”

Bellamy lets out a soft snort and Octavia shoots him a look. Bugging her eyes at him, Bellamy finally nods and says, “I do,” at her insistence.

“And do YOU, Clarke Penelope Griffin take the old and grumpy Bellamy Bradbury Blake to be your husband, until death do you part?”

Clarke makes a dramatic sweeping motion with their hands. “I do.”

Bellamy snorts.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss your bride!”

Nearly choking, Bellamy drops Clarke’s hands. “I’m not--”

Before he can finish that sentence, Clarke leans forward and pecks him on the cheek.

Bellamy feels his ears grow hot and Clarke just blushes.

“So,” Bellamy laughs nervously. “Does this make me royalty?”

* * *

It’s the last week of May, with only a few days left in the school year when Octavia comes home from school bawling.

Bellamy panics. “O, what’s wrong?”

“C-Clarke,” Octavia sputters. “She’s…” _hiccup_ “moving!”

Bellamy’s heart plummets, he knows how important Clarke is to her and even he is a little sad. Clarke is his friend, too, in a way. He reaches out and cradles Octavia to his chest, comforting her as her small nine-year-old heart breaks.

Octavia drags him to Arkadia Heights the afternoon that school lets out for summer, and they stand at the bottom of the Griffin’s driveway as the movers finish packing the truck.

Clarke comes out, and Bellamy thinks she looks like summer. Wild curls, frayed jean shorts, an old baseball t-shirt covered in dust.

“Hey guys,” she greets them.

Octavia smiles sadly.

“Thanks for coming.”

“I’m going to miss you,” Octavia mutters.

Clarke throws her arms around Octavia’s shoulders. “Me too,” she says hoarsely.

They hug for a few minutes, wiping away tears as they pull apart. Clarke turns to Bellamy.

“What? No tears?”

“Save it, Princess,” Bellamy teases.

She beams at him and wraps her arms around him tightly. “I’ll miss you, too.”

Bellamy just grunts. “Yeah, you too.”

He startles when he feels her lips touch his cheek, just briefly. They linger on his skin just a little bit longer than the first time she kissed him, at their _wedding._ “May we meet again,” she whispers. Clarke pulls away wistfully and turns back to Octavia. “You take care of Old Man Blake, here.”

Octavia lets out a watery laugh and they hug one more time. The Blakes wait until the Griffin’s have packed up entirely and loaded themselves into their car. As they pull away, Clarke rolls down her window and waves at them, not stopping until they’ve turned the corner out of the neighborhood.

The younger Blake turns and buries her face in Bellamy’s shirt and he throws an arm around her shoulder to comfort her. “May we meet again,” Bellamy says sadly.

* * *

_Eleven years later…_

“Bellamy,” Raven says, popping the cap off of beer and handing it to him. “Gina says she has the _perfect_ girl for you.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, taking the beer and throwing back a swallow. “And why does Gina think I need to be set up with someone.”

“Because you haven’t dated anyone since her and she’s worried about your ability to develop and maintain mature and healthy relationships with other human beings.”

Bellamy gawks. “I have relationships with people!”

“Drinking beer with Miller while watching baseball in silence doesn’t really count. And neither does your sister.”

Bellamy frowns. “I’m friends with you.”

“Oh, Bellamy.” She tilts her head with a sly smile. “I just keep you around because you introduced me to my girlfriend.” Raven smirks at him and then winks.

“Fair,” Bellamy says dejectedly.

Raven wipes the bar between them. “So, do you want me to tell Gina to set it up?”

Thinking about it, Bellamy takes another long swallow. He sets the beer down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, fine.”

* * *

Bellamy pushes through the doors of the bar, shaking out the snow in his hair. Raven is behind the bar as usual and she waves him over. Gina appears from the back and they both lean against the counter as Bellamy unwraps his scarf in front of them.

“Remind me again why this is a good idea?” Bellamy says in exasperation.

“Because, you need friends,” Raven says.

“And getting laid wouldn’t hurt,” Gina adds, shrugging.

Bellamy contemplates that notion. “How do you know her anyways?”

“Clarke is in my Art History class,” Gina says. “She just transferred from somewhere in Boston.”

Gina is a TA at the local university where Bellamy is also a grad student, coincidentally, Bellamy was also a student in one of her classes two years ago. When she says the girl’s name something in Bellamy tugs at his memory, but he pushes it aside and scans the bar.

“Where is she?”

Gina points to the booth in the far corner. “Blonde in the corner.”

Bellamy spots her, soft blonde waves and a snug-fitting black top, scanning the bar menu. He shoots one final look to the two girls behind the bar. “Wish me luck,” he says, shrugging his jacket off.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Raven says lightly.

* * *

Clarke sits nervously in the vinyl booth. She kind of wishes that she had gone ahead and ordered a drink before she sat down. When Gina had suggested that she meet up with her ex, she was hesitant. Having just gotten out of a bit of a tumultuous relationship with Lexa less than six months ago, coupled with dropping out of the pre-med program and moving back to her hometown, Clarke wasn’t sure if she was ready for anything.

Gina insists that he is a laid back guy, and that they’ll hit it off, so what’s the harm.

Someone approaches the table and Clarke looks up from the menu she was perusing.

“Clarke, hi I’m--”

“Bellamy?” Clarke stutters. _Bellamy Blake_. He frowns in confusion. _Oh my god he doesn’t know who I am._

“Oh, um, Gina gave me your name and number in case something came up.”

“Right, hi.”

Clarke gestures to the seat across from her and he slides into the booth. He’s wrestling with his coat and Clarke takes advantage of his distraction to inspect him further.

He’s older now, obviously. Now he is all hard lines and arms. _Oh my god._ He settles back against the bench and Clarke sees his arms. He is broad and firm and his shirt just fits him so _well_.

“So,” Bellamy says, startling her out of her thoughts. “Clarke.”

Clarke smiles. “So, Bellamy.”

“Gina tells me you just transferred from Boston?”

Clarke nods, clicking her tongue. “Yep. I dropped out of medical school, decided to go in a different direction.”

Gina appears at their table. “Hi Clarke, can I get you guys something to drink?”

Bellamy looks to Clarke and then back at Gina. “Um, beer for me, and whatever she wants.”

Clarke smiles. “I’ll do the same.”

“You got it.” Gina raps her knuckles on their table before returning to the bar.

“And what do you do, Bellamy?”

“I’m in grad school, actually. Working on my Master’s degree in Cultural Anthropology.”

Clarke nods, impressed. “Wow, what do you want to do with that?”

“Thinking about curating. I’d love to do some work at the Smithsonian. I’m actually trying to get an internship there this summer,” Bellamy says. Gina reappears with their drinks and he wraps his hands around the glass.

“I actually know someone who works there,” Clarke offers. “I could try and get you in contact with them if you want.”

Bellamy nearly doubles over. “What really? Oh my god, that would be-- you totally don’t have to--”

Clarke laughs, throwing her head back. “It’s fine, perks of having connections. His name is Marcus Kane, a friend of my mother’s. I’ll get his information for you before I leave.”

Bellamy bites his lip to try and hide his giddy smile and Clarke just looks at him fondly. All these years later, he is still as much of a big dumb nerd as she remembered.

“So,” Bellamy says, clearing his throat. “Why Walden, Virginia? Surely Boston is much nicer than good ol’ Small Town, USA.”

Clarke shrugs. “I grew up here, actually.”

“Oh,” Bellamy hummed.

“Yeah, I lived in Arkadia Heights.” Clarke tries to read Bellamy, who still doesn’t seem to connect the dots. “I got married here once, too.”

“Do I know the guy?” Bellamy laughs, the deep timbre of his voice warming Clarke’s chest.

“Oh, I think so.”

Bellamy cocks his head, bringing his beer up to his lips. “Really?”

Clarke stares at him for a moment and he frowns, totally oblivious. “Oh come on, Bellamy, don’t tell me you don’t recognize your wife?”

Bellamy chokes on his beer. “What?”

“Clarke Griffin?”

Suddenly it's as if all the planets align and Bellamy balks. “Oh my god, Clarke _Griffin_.”

Clarke laughs heartily, amused by the situation.

“Clarke Griffin,” he repeats, testing the words on his tongue. “You… grew up.”

Clarke smiles smugly, knowing the outfit she picked out did all the right things for her assets. “As one does in eleven years.”

“Has it been eleven years?” Bellamy muses. She nods. “Wow, you look really good, Clarke.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Bellamy drops back against the booth, still in awe of the given circumstances. “We really did get married didn’t we.”

“I think my mom still has our wedding picture in a photo album somewhere. She moved back into Arkadia Heights when she and my dad divorced, I stayed in Boston with him and started college there.”

Bellamy nods along at her words. “Wow, so, where are you living then? With your mom?”

“I just moved into an apartment two weeks ago, actually. I’ve had enough of my mom for two lifetimes.” Clarke laughs. “Your sister actually helped me find the place.”

“My sister?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at him. “Octavia? Ye high.” Clarke holds her hand a few meters from the ground. “Dark hair, killer cheekbones.”

“Yeah, no, I know who my sister is.” Bellamy frowns. “Have you guys kept in touch?”

Clarke nods. “We reconnected on Facebook back in high school, we chat every couple of months. When I decided I wanted to leave Boston, she told me she’d help me with the move if I needed.”

“She didn’t tell me that-- I’m not on Facebook.”

“Obviously.” Clarke snorts.

Raven appears at their table this time. “Another round, kids?”

Clarke bites her lip and looks at Bellamy. Bellamy keeps his eyes on Clarke and answers for them. “Definitely.”

* * *

Bellamy invites her to his apartment so he can cook for her. She’s excited, but also kind of frustrated because this will be their fourth date and he still hasn’t kissed her.

Clarke leans against the kitchen island while Bellamy stands at the stove. The kitchen smells like garlic and it’s warm and Bellamy’s wearing slippers with his nice dark wash jeans and plaid button up, because he’s the kind of person that has you take your shoes off when you come into the apartment.

Her mouth waters, and not just because she’s hungry and it smells delicious.

“Bellamy?”

“Hm?” he answers distractedly.

“You know we’re not ten years old anymore, right?”

He stills and slowly turns. “Okay?”

Clarke huffs impatiently and pushing off the island, grabs Bellamy’s collar and pulls him down into a kiss. He seems to get it, snapping into action. Walking them backwards, Clarke hits the island and Bellamy crowds her against it, arms braced on either side of her.

The kiss is exactly what it should be, hot and wet, chapped lips and knocking teeth. Bellamy tugs on her bottom lip and she groans, dragging her nails down his chest. Clarke arches against the counter, hooking her fingers in Bellamy’s belt buckle and pulling him flush against her.

Bellamy pulls back, dropping his forehead against hers as they try to catch their breath.

“Well, now that we got that out of the way,” Clarke says hoarsely.

Eyes still closed, Bellamy hums. “What?”

“I think it’s about time I had a sleepover with the _other_ Blake.” Clarke looks up at him playfully.

“Oh. _Oh,”_ Bellamy says, eyes shooting open. “Yeah, no, definitely. Let’s definitely do that.”

Clarke surges up for another kiss.

Bellamy pulls away again, and Clarke presses a hot wet kiss to the column of his throat. “Can we, um, should we--” Clarke nips at his earlobe. “Dinner?”

“Can it wait?” Clarke asks innocently.

Bellamy looks over his shoulder at the meal on the stove, it _is_ almost done. He reaches over, shuts of the stove and cups Clarke’s face. “Yeah, it can wait.”

* * *

Clarke collapses against his side in the car, pulling the door closed behind them. Bellamy is already taking his tie off and kicking off his shoes.

The wedding had been a fancy affair, because Abby had convinced Clarke to use the money her dad had left for her when he passed.

“Thirsty,” Clarke says, making grabby hands.

Bellamy slides down the bench to the mini fridge and pulls out two bottles of water. “Kudos to your mom for booking a limo.”

“Only the best for us Griffins!”

Bellamy drops his head to her shoulder. “You’re a Blake now.”

Clarke snorts.

“What?”

Clarke looks at him incredulously. “You think I’m going to change my name to _Clarke Blake?_ Think again buddy.” She laughs, and Bellamy thinks it might be his favorite sound in the whole world.

“Yeah, valid point.” Bellamy presses a wet kiss to her neck, and Clarke reaches across her body to run her fingers through his hair.

“Man, I hope you still remember your wife in eleven years.” Clarke bites back a smile.

Bellamy sinks his teeth into the juncture between her neck and her shoulder. “Oh my god, that was _one time_ ,” he says in mock exasperation, now peppering soft kisses to the same spot.

“Mhm,” Clarke hums, tipping her head back to allow Bellamy better access. “I need to get out of this dress,” she moans.

“I can help with that.” Bellamy shifts so he can smack a sloppy kiss to the top of her breast, nearly spilling out of the corseted white dress.

“My bag is in the back.” Clarke trails her hand down his arm, which is curved around her jaw.

Bellamy shrugs. “You can wear my shirt.”

“I don’t think the hotel people would like it if I wandered into the lobby in just my slip and a button down shirt.”

“They’ve probably seen worse.”

Clarke thinks, arching slightly when Bellamy nips at her earlobe. “What about you, they probably don’t allow shirtless men into their hotel either.”

“I literally do not care.”

Bellamy’s hand drops to her breast and kneads it roughly through the thick fabric, capturing her lips in a messy kiss.

“Okay, okay. Get this dress off of me,” Clarke pants, trying to wiggle loose.

“You got it, Mrs. Blake.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Anytime now Mr. Griffin.”

She smiles smugly, but Bellamy reaches behind her to fiddle with the zipper and Clarke forgets to be a smartass as his hands reach her skin and they are fire, the world around them melting into nothing.


End file.
